


Terrible Idea Number One

by residualaffection



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: F/M, I Don't Even Know, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Why Did I Write This?, onesided Kate/Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:11:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2069511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/residualaffection/pseuds/residualaffection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kate does not have a crush, she just has visions of perfect abs dancing in her head. It's totally not her fault. And she's going to fix it, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terrible Idea Number One

It wasn't as incredibly stupid to start off. It was always _stupid_ , but at the beginning…. At the beginning it was nothing, it was like admiring a model on a bus stop poster or something. Clint had trouble with shirts sometimes, and Kate kept finding herself presented with his abs. It turned out they were much nicer abs than a dude who appeared to live on pizza and coffee and had probably never set foot in a gym had any right to. Like seriously nice. 'It would be wrong not to appreciate their aesthetic virtues' nice. And that's all it was. Appreciating their aesthetic virtues. Okay, she kind of wanted to touch them, but so what? She wanted to touch the guys on the Calvin Klein billboards, too.

Then there was the morning she let herself into his apartment and found Clint passed out face down on his couch bare-assed naked. And it turned out he had a seriously nice ass, too. That wasn't generally her thing, but somehow Kate found herself noticing, in the minute before covering her eyes in surprise and then finding a blanket to throw over him. She left coffee and aspirin and snuck back out before he woke up. But once seen it was hard to un-see, and she found herself wondering how she'd managed to never notice the way his pants fit. SHIELD bdus, worn out jeans, ancient sweatpants. None of them did much to distract from the perfect curve of his ass and the lean muscles of his thighs, except maybe the sweatpants, which he'd somehow lost the string for so they rode so precariously low she could see that cut ridge at his hip bones above the waistband of his boxers. They were pretty much just held up by his junk, really. Fuck she was looking at his crotch.

Probably she should've learned her lesson and made sure to knock or buzz or text or something before coming over, but she'd gotten used to half-sharing the apartment and somebody needed to look after Lucky. And Clint, honestly, somebody needed to look after Clint. Half the time when she came around he was either brutally hungover or beaten to hell or both. She stocked the freezer with ice packs and pre-ground coffee and did what she could to keep him in bandaids. That they sometimes needed applying to those perfect abs was a bonus, she told herself one day as she wrapped an ace bandage carefully around his ribs. A minute or two up close with his torso was just a little bit of karma for taking care of him and she was just admiring the view the universe provided, that was all. She secured the bandage in place and smoothed it with a hand, pulling back before it met skin. Admiring from afar was the name of the game. Afar-ish.

(When she dreamed about pale skin and perfect muscles tensing under her hand she told herself it was Tommy, but she knew his hair was even lighter than blond and he'd never been shot in the side.)

The day she walked in on Clint fucking Cherry was when it really started to become a problem. She only got the door open a crack before she heard them but instead of immediately flinching away, she looked. The redhead was up on the kitchen counter while Clint drove quick and hard between her legs, back rippling and clenching in rhythm. For a moment Kate thought that rush that went through her when she saw them was some sort of jealous rage, and she was disgusted with herself. Clint could date whoever he wanted, that wasn't what they were to each other or even what she wanted them to be. She could do so much better than a trainwreck like him, anyway. Cherry was welcome to it.

But as she turned to let the door quietly shut behind her she realized: no, that wasn't anger. It was worse. The heat she'd mistaken for it had settled low in her belly and when she walked away down the hall it pulsed between her legs. Shit. _Shit_. 

At home later, she thought about Tommy more deliberately than she had in months, and then the bartender around the corner with the six-pack and the full sleeve tattoos and then both of them at once, but she couldn't quite get it of it out of her head. Cherry moaning like she was auditioning for porn but _sincere_ , Clint's hand palming her breast, the throaty growl he'd made as he thrust into her so hard Kate heard the slap of it across the apartment. If she came picturing the defined musculature of an arm braced against a countertop it didn't mean anything. It could've been anyone's.

But it was all downhill from there. Clint hit a rough patch and while him being such a disaster generally helped counteract his infuriating handsomeness, collapsing naked more frequently unfortunately didn't. She managed to avoid eye contact with his groin as she helped him up from where he'd fallen asleep on the kitchen floor, but when she walked past his bedroom a few days later and found he'd forgotten to close the door or put on pajamas or put sheets on his bed…. She hadn't meant to do a double-take, but she also hadn't realized how much she'd been wondering what his cock was like. Of course the answer was much, much nicer than he deserved. She'd done her best not to mentally measure when fishing around for his SHIELD credit card in Madripoor and apparently had been successful since the actual sight of him caught her off-guard. How could such a fuck-up look so good? It wasn't fair. Or maybe it was. Maybe being some sort of stealth Adonis was how he balanced out all the bad decisions and worse luck. It just wasn't fair _to her_.

He mumbled in his sleep and moved, running a hand over his belly, and Kate sprang out of the doorway. What was she even doing right now? Right, batteries for the remote. She found some in the closet, and when she passed his room again told herself she was just curious whether he was waking up. He was snoring, but part of him was definitely awake now and she just about fumbled the handful of triple-As she was pouring out of the package at that glimpse. She swung a hard right and nearly slammed the door to the bathroom behind her, suddenly breathing hard, hands trembling. She shut her eyes and leaned back against the door to catch her breath, but the real problem was the return of that ache between her thighs. Deep slow breaths brought her heart rate back to normal but it did nothing for the slick heat at her core or the sudden throb of sensitivity. 

Kate tipped her head back against the door and shut her eyes. Fuck. _Fuuuuuuck_. What the hell was wrong with her? She did not want to sleep with Clint Barton. It would ruin everything they had and it was also just a really terrible idea. He was an idiot, he was like thirty or something, he had a million disgruntled exes for a reason, god only knew when he'd last been tested for chlamydia or whatever, and he was an idiot. Such an idiot. She didn't want to have sex with him. She just-- she just wanted to think about having sex with him. There, she'd admitted it. She wanted to fantasize about those stupid abs and stupid back muscles and stupid hands and now, god, that stupid, stupid dick of his, too. One hand was still a fist clenched around a pack of batteries, but the other undid the top button of her jeans and slipped down the front of her panties. She'd just get this over with, get it out of system, and then she could get back to Hawkeye business as usual.

She wasn't going to waste any time, either, she told herself as she slid two fingers through the carefully maintained patch of curls, her fingers a vee to either side of her clit. This wasn't a fantasy to savor, and not only because real-Clint could wake up at any second. It just didn't deserve that kind of attention. She'd bang one out real fast and that'd be enough. It was no wonder she was getting turned on by stupid things lately, it was like withdrawal or something. It'd been years she since and Eli had broken up, things hadn't ever really worked out with Tommy. It turned out actually dating, like with non-teammates, while a superhero was ridiculously difficult and the one night stand thing… she hadn't quite figured that out yet. She curled those fingers to dip into her slit and found she was wetter than she'd realized. Definitely withdrawal.

If the hand had been Clint's it would've been larger, and she couldn't mimic that but she could imagine how he'd touch her - a little too heavily, too eagerly, and she wriggled her jeans down further so she could push two fingers in, to the last knuckle without hesitation. She winced a little at the suddenness of it but it seemed right. She could picture Clint standing in front of her, grinning, working his fingers into her. She poured her handful of batteries into the sink. He'd have his thumb on her clit, broad and callused but just right, and she let the rough patch on her index finger where her bowstring caught stand in, dragging it back and forth around the hood until she shivered. He would've grinned then, too. 

He'd have his cock in his other hand, she decided, shirt off but jeans and boxers just pulled open, so he could wrap those longer fingers of his around his thick shaft and stroke in time with the push and pull of his fingers inside her. She'd be running her nails through the dusting of dirty blond hair on his chest, following the tawny line of it down to his belly. Maybe she'd lean in and lick one of his nipples, catch him by surprise. He'd make a noise like he'd made at Cherry, something between a groan and a growl that made his chest rumble under her lips. He'd crowd her against the door, push a third finger into her, press the heel of his hand close for her to rub against. She'd give his cock a couple quick pumps and he'd decide he couldn't wait any longer. She'd be picked up by the ass like she weighed nothing and set on the counter, and then Clint would be between her thighs, pulling her right to the edge and she'd wrap her legs around him and-- _fuck_. She bit back a groan as she pushed a fourth finger inside herself and scissored them, stretching the way she imagined Clint's cock would. 

Kate thumbed her clit faster, grinding onto her own hand, and pictured Clint bent over her, muscles bunching as he braced himself on the counter, an arm to either side of her, thrusting quick and hard, short strokes that slapped them together. He'd lower his head, kiss her neck and tease at her throat. She wondered if he talked, if he'd whisper filthy things in her ear while he pounded her senseless or just make those intense growling noises. Somehow it seemed hot either way. She bit her lip and pushed her head back against the door, eyes shut tight, breathing quick, and driving her fingers as deep as she could, circling her clit, both hands slick now. She couldn't decide if she was pleased or embarrassed at how close she was already. 

She spent another minute imagining what they'd look like on the counter, with Clint's pants around his thighs, the muscles of his ass clenching with each thrust he drove into her. His whole back working, sweat beading at the nape of his neck, abs flexing as his hips circled. He was bound to have some sort of evil trick like that, wasn't he? Just when he'd started to seem like a one trick pony (with, admittedly, a pretty fantastic one trick, in Kate's head) he'd bust out some surprise that'd have her biting her lip to hold in a moan like she was now as her fingers curled. It'd be just like him, especially now that she'd discovered he was basically designed for sex. Sexeye, they should call him. Hawksex? _Sexguy_. No. God, no, what was her brain doing _think about abs_.

Abs glistening with exertion, heaving with his breath coming faster, a flush spread down his chest. He'd suck on her neck and tell her he was close, his voice low and warm, tell her to come with him, and get a thumb between them to help her do it. Any second now she'd be there, and they'd make some stupid joke, like 'after you, Hawkeye' right before, but would that be him saying it or her or fuck who'd care, she didn't think she'd even remember their codename if she really had Clint's cock in her, filling her, and she crooked her fingers again and circled her clit and she could almost hear him on top of her, panting her name, they were so close, god this was going to feel good she could tell the way it was building, imagine how good it would be for real, how good he looked how amazing he'd feel when she clenched around him and got her nails in his back and

Then Clint was on top of her, for real, the door crashing open as she squawked in surprise and he yelped and they both tripped on a towel on the floor and tumbled into a heap. "What the fuck, Clint!?" Kate wasn't proud of how close to a screech that came out but at least instincts had her hands out to break her fall so probably he hadn't seen them down her pants. He was heavy and clumsy on top of her, getting up quickly but unsteadily, all bleary-eyed. At least he wasn't naked anymore. She buttoned her jeans as quickly as was humanly possible and tried hard not to think about how ridiculously sopping wet she was. The split-second when her eyes were even with the fly of his boxers as she got to her feet didn't exactly help.

"Jesus, Kate, I'm sorry, I thought the door was stuck, I didn't know you were still here, you didn't answer me, I'm sorry. Christ, I'm sorry, I'll just. Go." He shuffled back out, pulling the door behind him, and Kate leaned against the sink to catch her breath, the adrenaline of terror and arousal both still tensing muscles, weakening joints. She was just washing her hands when he knocked tentatively on the door.

"For Christ's sake Clint, give me one fucking minute!" she snapped.

"Sorry, sorry, I'll just--" he didn't finish the sentence, and she heard the floor creak as he walked quickly away. And then started retching, she hoped into the kitchen sink. Kate's sigh was almost a laugh, and she leaned on her forearms for another second, shaking her head at herself in the mirror. What the fuck was wrong with her? Cold water splashed on her face helped with the last of the guilty sex-flush if not the actual guilt. It was clearly time to get over her nerves about one night stands and end this stupid drought. She was going out tonight, she was finding the hottest guy in the club who didn't look or sound or act anything at all like Clint Barton, and she was getting laid. As soon as she was satisfied Clint wasn't going to pass out and crack his head open on the linoleum somehow. If anyone could do it, it'd be Clint. And she needed to show him where she'd put the coconut water she'd replaced his shitty sugar-syrup red drink with. How the hell could she actually be getting off on thoughts of a guy who could barely keep himself hydrated? Pull yourself together, Hawkeye.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Even unrequited fantasy Kate/Clint is not canon in Hawkguy and never will be and I think that's a pretty awesome decision by the creators because they're a super badass brotp. I just also enjoy alternate universe what-ifs. Sexy ones?
> 
> 2\. In case it wasn't obvious, in my head this comes just before Young Avengers v2 #1.


End file.
